Chapter 3: A Lesson in Obediance

Ophelia had never much understood why men were always so eager to rule over women, but had always been taught by her father not to give it much thought. It was the way the world worked: ladies belonged to their lords, and that was that. But her Hamlet? No! For surely with Hamlet it was the other way around. The Prince of Denmark had always treated her like a person, with kindess and respect, and had eaten out of her hand for the very favor of a smile since their youth.

"Do you ignore me, my sister?" Laertes demanded crossly, and Ophelia stirred guiltily, realizing that she must've been daydreaming yet again.

Ophelia and her brother were strolling arm in arm alonga pathway on the moor. They were heading home, for Laertes was to depart to France soon. She could see already the battlements surrounding the fortress of the castle keep and could smell too the muck and stink of the muddy and manuer-strewn road.

"I heard you, my brother," answered Ophelia meekly.

"You did not," Laertes accused sharply. "You've been such a featherhead oft of late that I beseeched you to write me. Let me hear from you!"

"Do you doubt that you would?"

"Aye, and not only that, but Hamlet's trifling love! Beware, my sister. He holds you in passion like a new and beloved toy that is soon forgotten once twisted and broken. His love is but a fancy, not permenant, not sweet, not lasting. It will thrive as long as the flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow in our Lord's tale. A trifle. Nothing more."

"And you should know much of trifles," said Ophelia sullenly.

Laertes gave her a filthy look, "What is becoming for a man is not becoming for a woman! A bee may leap from this flower to that -- but the flower may not roam from bee to bee!"

"Hyprocritical nonsense," sniffed Ophelia, lifting her skirts to avoid a pile of horse droppings as they entered thefortress gates. "Hamlet's love is honest and true and he hath need of me right now -- did not his father die mere months ago?"

"You are a toy to him, nothing more," declared Laertes stubbornly. "And he will break you because you are too dull and foolish to see reason! No matter. I have spoken to Father about this, and he shall take care of the matter."

Ophelia scowled at Laertes and pulled away from him, "How dare you! How dare you go behind my back to entreat of our father about a matter which doesn't concern you?"

"You speak too forwardly, Ophelia, and your tongue warrants a good slapping," warned her brother, then took her arm again and said gently, "I did all for the best. Our father is a wise man and has known Hamlet as long as you. He will discern the man's heart. But look you! I depart very soon, and I would like our last meeting to bring a sweet smile to my lips -- kiss me, fair sister, for I linger too long!"

Ophelia gave her brother a dutiful kiss on both cheeks and smiled reluctantly when he tweaked her nose. She wanted to be angry with him for what she felt was a betrayal against her and against Hamlet, but all anger melted away under Laertes's happy, boyish smile, and she suddenly threw her arms around his neck.

"I will write to you," she said into his ear, her long black hair flowing loosely down her back. "And keep your lesson close to my heart. Perhaps you know something of Hamlet that I do not. But do your sister justice and reck not your own rede!" and she drew away again and gave her brother a good-natured look of suspicion.

It was no secret that Laertes slept with many women abroad and made them such trifles as he claimed Hamlet was doing to her.

"I stay too long," said Laertes, uncomfortably aware that a blush was creeping hotly up his neck. "And here our father comes -- Hail, Father!"

A bent old man with ashort gray beard was scurrying toward them through the muddy confusion of the streets.

"Abroad, abroad, Laertes! For shame!" scolded Polonius good-naturedly. "Here you beg for France and yet you linger. Remember you, my son: give every man your ear but not your voice and to thy own self be true, hmm? Farewell," he said, clasping his son's face in both hands. "And with my blessing, go -- " and he kissed Laertes on both cheeks and held him close.

"Most humbly do I take my leave," Laertes said, holding his father's and his sister's hands in each of his own. He smiled at them, lingering still, until Ophelia reached up and playfully slapped him lightly on the cheek.

"Go, my brother, and god bless you!"

Laertes grinned, "Farewell, Ophelia, and remember what I have said to you."

Ophelia merely perched her lips in a mischeviously puckered smile and attempted an obediant nod.

Laertes narrowed his eyes at her but said, "Farewell," and was gone.

"What's this, Ophelia, that he hath said to you?" Polonius wanted to know as he took his daughter's arm and led her toward their home.

Both his children were taller than he, but Polonius was a man of sound body. Though his back was bent, his hands and arms were strong, and he literally led Ophelia rather than the other way around.

Ophelia hated his iron grasp and resisted squirming away as she answered mysteriously, "So please you, some vulgar gossip about Hamlet. Nothing more." Her lips quivered in a secret smile as she quoted her brother's words of warning.

Polonius pressed her hand hard, a warning that she quit her sauciness, for the girl had might as well have told him to mind his own business. "Tis told me that the two of you have given each other private time together quite oft of late -- too oft. What is between the two of you? Yield your secrets to your father and lord."

Ophelia ground her teeth angrily. He treated her like a child! It was maddening! Here she was, one-and-twenty, and yet she was not allowed to have secrets, to have lovers, to have a life of her own! No, she was only allowed to sit by the fire, spin, and wait on her wrenched father and brother, which behoofed a royal councillor's daughter.

Perhaps if we traded places for a day he would mark the utter meaninglessness of my life, thought Ophelia and answered stiffly, "As you know, my lord Hamlet has recently suffered a great loss, and, as you also know, I have been his best friend since childhood. I count it not odd that a friend should comfort a friend."

"Your saucy tongue rouses my disapproval, daughter, and you speak too much!" Polonius flared as they reached their rooms within the court. "Don't give me this nonsense about grief and comfort -- you think you love him and he is trifling with you!"

"He hath made many tenders of affection to me," said Ophelia, stiffly still.

"Affections! Bah!" cried Polonius, seating himself with a groan beside the cold hearth. He gathered a chunk of bread and took a great bite. "You speak like a featherhead virgin who knows nothing of men, and perhaps that is good," her father said thickly aroundhis mouthful of bread.

Ophelia scowled as she bent over the fire to build it, her black hair falling like a veil across her face. And whose fault was it that she had gone unmarried for so long? A virgin for so long? she thought viciously.

"Do you believe these 'tenders' as you call them?" inquired her father, and she felt his eyes wander to her back.

"I do not know what to believe, my lord," Ophelia lied, but she knew very well that Hamlet loved her dearly, and she him.

"Then, by Mary, I shall teach you," her father said with a righteous nod. "Don't mistake his affection for something else, daughter. Guard yourself more dearly and thus, you shall not tender me a fool."

"He has courted me in honorable fashion," Ophelia replied, almost growling as she straightened up and lifted her chin.

"Aye, and a fashion one might call it!" snapped her father. "Do you honestly think it will last long? That he will want you still when, being a prince, he could take any woman to his bed?"

"His bed has not been rumpled by any woman, save one," Ophelia said, turning away, and heard the chair clatter to the floor as her father rose with sudden violence behind her and wrenched her around by the arm.

"Did you let him touch you?" he demanded, spit flying from his mouth as he shook his daughter. "Did you? By god, I'll send you to a nunnery if you say yea!"

He shook Ophelia until her teeth bit her tongue, and she reached up with both hands and grabbed her father's arms, begging as blood dribbled over her lips that he stop. Blinded by the hair tumbling into her eyes,Ophelia could only catch glimpses of his white teeth flashing as he screamed, "Did you? Did you?"

"No!" Ophelia sobbed. "No -- it was a lie!" and no sooner had she spoken than Polonius smacked her hard across the face, and she fell to the rough stone floor, sobbing.

"How dare you lie to me," Polonius hissed breathlessly, shuffling back to his chair and putting it to rights as he glared at his daughter. "How dare you! Not before Hamlet began his low trifling did you ever ever dare -- " He broke off and nodded as if Ophelia's behavior had confirmed something. "Do not believe his vows, daughter. Believe only so much in him that he is young and with greater freedom may he walk than a lady. Do not, from this time forth, slander my name by dallying anymore with Hamlet and his false love."

Ophelia, her head hung, ground her teeth under the covering veil of her black hair but said in the meekest voice she could muster, "I shall obey, my lord."